“Aw, are you packing up?” she said.
“I’m afraid so,” I replied, “I think two hours is probably long enough for the people round here to have to listen to me …
She made a noise as though to agree (rather too readily, I thought) and then said, “Never mind, take this pound coin anyway.”
She dropped a warm coin into my hand. I wondered how long she’d been holding on to it.
The kindness and generosity of strangers never ceases to amaze me. As strangers do we fell to talking … about the weather, how the day had gone, the general state of “things”. She let slip that she was sixty. I was amazed because I really thought she looked a lot older. I guess that’s what a hard life and constant pain can do. She suffers with fibromyalgia and is expecting to die when she reaches sixty-five, as happened with her mother and her sister - at least that’s what I thought she said.
Today was my first busk out since January. Ignoring the sets I played on the European mainland in February this was my first opportunity. Much of January had been affected by very cold weather, I was out of the country in February, while March (up until now) was a non starter owing to the weather and the persistent cough and cold I’ve been fighting off since I returned to England. I had hoped to get out yesterday, but it was raining again. As I was heading towards Huntingdon today I drove through the light rain forecast as a forty percent probability. The sky brightened a little and then greyed over again. I found my favourite spot in the shopping precinct and set up. It was quite windy, but not specially cold.
When I was in Venice I bought a selfie stick that screws on to a little tripod. I thought I would like to do some live filming. I recorded a little introduction. Then I recorded another segment showing what my spot looked like when I’d finished setting up. I thought I didn’t record any more - which was a pity because the first few songs went well - not well enough for anyone to drop a tip in the hat, but well enough to have been recorded. I was curious to see what the balance is like. Then, when I got home I discovered that my phone recorded everything from my pocket. The balance was all wrong, of course. I have a long way to go before I manage to video anything that looks as professional as fellow busker, August Radio Project.
It’s funny how it goes with busking. I don’t do it for the money, but the tips are handy. I think I was on my fifth song before a woman dropped the first coin of the day in the hat. After that there was a steady flow. It’s not even as though the money is the most memorable part. I keep a record, because I declare all my earnings for tax purposes, but I’d never remember what I earn in each spot without referring to my diary. No, what is memorable are the characters. One young man came by. He was carrying a guitar slung on his back and a huge smile on his face. He asked about the Footdrums declaring he’d never seen anything like them before. Had I made them? I explained, probably for the hundredth time, that they were made by Pete Farmer in the USA. If I don’t get a commission, maybe I should get a discount when I eventually upgrade to a newer version with more pedals. We chatted for a while as he explained he was looking to start using foot percussion. I love that this particular message is being spread abroad. He dropped a fiver in the hat and my heart raced a little in excitement and then faster still as he started picking through the heavier coins. I thought he was picking out some change for his tip, but he was gathering coins to weigh down the five pound note so it wouldn’t blow away. I reached into my merch box and brought out an old cd of my ceilidh band. I’d normally give a Marshlander greeting card in return for a paper donation, but I’ve run out of stock. Still, I suppose this would be one way of running down the remaining stock of 700 or so CDs - not that they sound anything like Marshlander, although the tunes are all my compositions. Later I gave another CD to a woman who also put £5 in the hat.
People walked by, some smiled as we made eye contact while others resolutely looked away. There were several people out with dogs yesterday too. One dog stopped and stared. It seemed to be listening to my music with great interest. Is that even possible? Maybe it was more interested in my scent … Another dog walked by with a notice strapped to its back that it was in training, though for what, I’d no idea. A gaunt and heavily tattooed man, dressed in black leather and wearing slicked back black hair approached. He dropped a few coins in the hat. My “thank you” was his cue for engagement.
“You look very happy. You have a great aura,” he declared. “You live your own life and do just what you want. Good for you!”
I confirmed that I feel very fortunate and am pretty much my own master and that I love my life. He grinned and stretched out his arm. We bumped fists and he wandered off into the afternoon with a “Good for you, mate, good for you!”
A little girl of about two years turned to stare. This brought the accompanying grandparents and dog to a halt. Grandma fished something out of her purse and the girl approached cautiously as she held out a coin. I asked her to put it into the hat which she did. As I finished the second verse of “Be Home Soon” she stood still and stared at the drums. I stopped. “I have a special song if you have time to listen,” I offered, “You might know it.” I looked up at Grandad and he nodded his approval. “Why haven’t you got any shoes?” she asked, “Are you cold?”
“No I’m not cold, but you see these drums? They are very special. Most people play their drums wearing big shoes or boots. I love my drums and like to treat them kindly and with respect, so I always take off my shoes to play them.” She turned a very serious face to me. I changed to my C harmonica and played the first two bars of “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star”, which I keep as a party piece for the very young. As I started singing she turned and ran back to bury her face in Grandma’s coat. I kept going and she didn’t join in the singing, but after a while she began to dance. Arms outstretched she spun in circles and then raced around me and my rig and the nearby street furniture. She leapt into the air and she cartwheeled as best as two year-olds can. “She’s a very good dancer,” said Grandad. I couldn’t help but agree. Grandma gave her some more change to drop into the hat. She dropped 20p in and put the rest into her own pocket. That was hilarious. We waved our goodbyes as I changed harps again and picked up “Be Home Soon” where I’d left off.
Apart from a misty drizzle for a few minutes the rain held off. By the time I’d finished my set the sun was out and shining in the periodically blue sky. I’d had a lovely time and it felt so good to be out in the street again after being otherwise occupied for the past six or seven weeks.
I continued packing up after the sixty year-old woman left. Another older woman who was wheeling a bicycle stopped. Like me her teeth had not seen a dentist for a long time. Her hair was greasy and lank while yellow may not have been the best colour to be wearing given the state of her clothes. “I heard you earlier,” she admitted. She’d come out on her bike because she was bored and lonely and didn’t know what else to do. She explained that she only eats one meal a day, usually fish in the evening. She comes out to catch the shops before they closed. She liked to buy her fish from Iceland because the fish from Waitrose don’t taste as fresh. I said, “That would make you a pescatarian then.” She looked puzzled, so I explained. “I often wake up at two in the morning and I can’t think what to do. I can’t go out on my bike at that time of night. During the day there’s nowhere else to go but round the shops. That gets boring.” I could see her point. She suddenly became conscious of the state of her clothes. “I really ought to put these in the washing machine,” she gestured to indicate her coat and skirt. A few days ago, while on her rounds, she bought a cake from Greggs and she fancied some ice cream for a change. She bought a pot and ate the lot before it melted.
“Cake and ice cream when you normally prefer fish. How did you feel when you were finished?”
“Very, very sick,” she admitted. “It wasn’t as nice as I thought it would be.”
